


【from Budapest, with love】

by watanukitty



Category: Maleficent (2014), Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Avengers AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanukitty/pseuds/watanukitty
Summary: His blood is soaking through the sheets but he doesn’t care. She’s here and they’re barely alive and they’re together. That's all that matters.Or: Avengers AU where Mal and Diaval recuperate after a hard mission.





	【from Budapest, with love】

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr (back in 2014) for Maleval Week day 2: pain/fatal injury. 
> 
> Avengers AU, Mal is Black Widow and Diaval is Hawkeye. (It's been five years since I wrote this and I now ship Romanogers. Lol)

The explosions have long been gone, but his ears are still ringing. There’s a hot, throbbing pain on his right shoulder, a gash on his side, and the wound from where a shrapnel hit him on the head is seeping blood onto his eyes.

He feels like shit.

They fumble up the nearly ruined stairs, down to a crumbling hall, past a couple of abandoned rooms to one that looks hidden enough and undamaged enough. Between the both them, Mallory was the one with two working legs, so it’s up to her to force the door open. She removes his arm from her shoulder, steps back, and kicks. The locks give way, and the door bursts to reveal a medium-sized room, littered with glass and dust and bits of chipped paint, but otherwise in mint condition. There’s a double bed, a closet, and a bathroom with a broken door. It could have been better, but Diaval didn’t complain. He just hopes the water is still running.

She takes his arm again and guides him inside, helping him as he dragged himself to the bed. He drops their bags and gear on the floor, and she collapses on the arm chair on the opposite wall.

Mallory looks worse for wear. A cut on her lower lip, on her right cheek, blood matted on her dark hair, and he knows there’d be a map of bruises on her body, should he take her suit off.

God, does he want to take her suit off.

He had almost taken a bullet for her, that area on his chest now thankfully numb. It was a graze, but it was close, so close. It could have been the last bullet that ever hit him. He was lucky to have moved fast enough.

(Bullets were flying, the skies were darkening, there was a red light on her back. All he could think of was no, not her, no. Not her, not her, not her.

And then he _jumped_.)

His blood is soaking through the sheets but he doesn’t care. She’s here and they’re barely alive and they’re together. She’s here.

That’s all that matters.

“Diaval,” she says, her small and hoarse, “your shoulder.”

He nods, and sits up. She hands him a piece of cloth to bite on, and positions her hands on his back.

“On three. One, two—”

Suddenly there was pain. White, blinding pain. He cries through the cloth between his teeth as she holds him down. His mind goes blank for he doesn’t know how long, and when he comes to, the warmth of her hands is gone.

“Mal?” he calls out.

“In here,” she answers, her voice drifting from the bathroom. He hears the sound of running water.

“There’s hot water. Do you wanna—”

“No,” he half groans. He limps from the bed to the bathroom, working on removing the clasps of his vest and throwing the bloodied, tattered garment behind him. From her spot in the doorway, Mallory nods in understanding of his intentions, and starts on loosening her belts and removing her gloves. He doesn’t fail to notice the tremble in her hands.

Diaval stops her as she brings the zipper of her suit down. “Let me,” he whispers. She doesn’t protest.

Inch by inch he reveals her skin, and sure enough, there are a myriad of scratches and bruises on her body—on her arms, her shoulders, between her breasts, on her stomach. He closes his eyes, bends down to nuzzle her neck, and instinctively inhales her scent. She lets him, if only for a bit, and pulls away.

“Come on,” she urges.

They shed the remainder of their clothes and step in the spray of the shower. The water is hot, scalding even, but he finds it incomparable to the heat radiating off her skin.

(There was fire and tremors and clouds of dust. She wove through the enemies faster than lightning, her guns and weapons booming. She was leaping, tumbling, spinning.

She looked like she’s flying.)

“You could have died,” she scolds. Her voice echoes against the tiles. All around them, steam is rising.

“For you,” he says. _I could have died for you_.

Diaval pulls her flush against his body, and buries his face on the crook of his neck. Her hand cups over the wound on his chest—the newest addition to his gallery of scars.

He’d get a dozen more if it means getting her out alive.

“Don’t—” she murmurs in his ear, her hands tangling in his dark hair. He cradles the back of her head, runs his hands on the marks on her back. “Just don’t,” she repeats.

He opens his eyes, and tightens his hold on her. “You know I still would.” He presses his lips to her skin, branding her with his promise. She shivers.

They don’t speak afterwards. They clean each other off from sweat and soot, from blood and grime. She comforts him with her warmth and her kisses and her touch. He comforts her with his whispers, with his embrace, with his strength. They stay until the water runs cold.

“I owe you,” she tells him as she patches him up. He lifts his head to look at her, and pulls her into his lap. She stares into his eyes, runs her hand through his damp hair. He moves to capture her lips with his.

(Pain went through his chest in waves, but she’s in his arms and she’s safe. She stopped and turned and stood over him, shooting at anyone who came near.

He saved her, she saved him.)

“No, Mal,” he mutters against her lips, “you don’t.”

She sighs and he groans. He deepens the kiss, removes her towel, and lays her on the bed.

Outside, the sun rises again on Budapest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm transferring all my Maleval tumblr fics here because I have FEELS.


End file.
